


The One That Knew

by scifirevolutions



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Frankenstein theory, Kidlock, M/M, Mycroft Holmes/Sebastian Moran - Freeform, mycroft holmes/Greg Lestrade - Freeform, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifirevolutions/pseuds/scifirevolutions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>References to:<br/>BBC's Sherlock TV Series (2010)<br/>Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street by Baring-Gould<br/>Frankenstein by Marry Shelling</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"GIVE IT BACK, MYCROFT!"

"IT'S NOT YOURS!"

"IS TOO!"

"IT IS NOT!"

"MUUUUUUM!"

Mrs. Holmes quickly rushed into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Mycroft and Sherlock came running downstairs.

"SHERLOCK'S THE ONE WHO STOLE IT!"

"NO, YOU DID!" 

"MUUUUUUUUM!" Mycroft whined as the two boys made their way to the kitchen.

"Father's in the living room, dears." Mrs. Holmes quickly said fiddling with the kettle as if it wasn't working properly. Sherlock turned around, heading for the living room, leaving Mrs. Holmes to a less of a noisy atmosphere.

Mycroft quickly noted "Mum, it's working, you just need to wait at least 5 mins," before he rushed to catch up with Sherlock.

 

Mr. Holmes, on the other hand, wasn't as fortunate. Trying to make last weeks newspaper seem immanently important, he brought the pages up to his face as his sons stormed into the room.

"DAAAAAAD! MAKE HIM GIVE IT BACK!"

"I'M OLDER!"

"SO?"

"It was MINE first." Mycroft snapped back, then, turning towards his father "The currency’s dropped 5% since the 8th. So, if you want today's newspaper it's in my room."

"YOU gave it to me."

"WELL, I WANT IT BACK!" 

"DAD!" They both yelled turning toward a half frightened man paralyzed to his chair.

 

Yes, that's right the Holmes's were scared of their children, even the eldest Sherrinford Holmes, could be quiet intimidating when he locked himself in his room for days on end, without coming out to even use the bathroom. Ever since they could remember, Sherrinford, or Ford, had a strange behavior to obsess over some random scientific experiment with could last months. Once they had to bring paramedics over just to get his body functioning again. Since, he now makes sure to fuel up when necessary but has never come close to reaching some kind of normal stranded. Not that any of their other children were anywhere near normal either.

 

"Well, if you did give it to him-" Mr. Holmes started timidly. 

"IF YOU DON'T GIVE IT BACK, I'M LEAVING THIS HOUSE AND NEVER COMING BACK!" 

"FINE, I GET YOUR ROOM WHEN YOU'RE GONE!" 

"YOU DON'T MEAN THAT, YOU COULDN'T GO A DAY WITHOUT ME!"

"Boys, please-", but Mr. Holmes's voice just faded away against the wrath of the two short beings in front of him.

"COULD TO"

"GRAMMER" 

"WHAT FOR?"

"IT'S IMPROPER!"

"MAKE ME!"

Suddenly Ford came storming downstairs.

"WOULD YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP? I'M TRYING TO WORK!"

 

Mr. Holme's face turned red. As much as he feared to discipline his children, there were some things to which he just couldn't turn a blind eye. "SHERRINFORD HOLMES, YOU COME OVER HERE AND APPOLOGIE THIS VERY INSTANT. "

"Ooh, he's gonna get it now." Sherlock whispered over to Mycroft.

Ford descended the narrow staircase shuffling his feet on the ground. "sorry, dad" He said timidly.

"Not To Me."

"sorry, mycroft, sherlock for using the swear word in front of you... Can I go now, I'm in the middle of something"

 

 _In front of them?_ Well, it was better then nothing. "Ok, off you go. And as for you two, I want to see a reconciliation by the of the day or they'll be no lab experiments for a whole month." Mr. Holmes said leaving two gasping children standing perplexed in the middle of the room. Mr. Holmes had gotten use to using difficult words in front of his children and knew well enough that their silence was not because they didn't understand the threat.

 

***

 

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"SHUT UP SHER-... shut up, sherlock" Mycroft whispered, "are you trying to get us grounded." 

"It's mine!" Sherlock whispered loudly while Mycroft held a small objet up out of his reach.

"You never use it and I need it today." Mycroft replied placing the short thin comb on the top rack of his bookshelf.

Sherlock stared up into his eyes, "I'll scream real loud if you don't give it back."

"Why do you always have to be such such a nuisance." Mycroft sulked picking the small comb off the shelf and trowing it towards Sherlock. "Life was a lot better before you were born." 

Sherlock caught the small objet and suddenly stormed out of their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Sherlock was the master of sass and so for him not to monopolize the last word was highly unusual. Mycroft was just about to call after him, when Ford burst in, the door swinging a full 180 and crashing against the wall. 

 

"YOU BARSTARDS!" He yelled, approaching Mycroft and pushing him against the wall. "So which one of you cunts was it, huh? YOU or Sherlock? Or maybe you're both conspiring against me?"

Mycroft didn't reply; he honestly had no clue to what Ford was referring, but wasn't going to tell him that either.

"Where the FUCK is it?" Ford shouted, knocking over a stack of Sherlock's books piled (not so neatly) next to his bed. 

Mycroft remained silent; as long as it wasn't his stuff, he wouldn't put himself in perilous danger. Besides Sherlock would probably be back soon and Mycroft could easily slip off while they fought.

 

"If you don't tell me where it is, suits, I'll cut you up into little pieces and use your body parts for my experiments." Mycroft was now trembling, rationalizing the idea that Ford could actually be capable of murder. Ford walked towards Mycroft, staring him down. He fixed onto his eyes and cocked his head sideways. His angered face suddenly turned to acknowledgment and he turned around, yelling "Sherrrlooock!" 

Mycroft actually felt sort of sorry for Sherlock. As much as he hated his guts, no one deserves to have Ford after them.

 

"Mycroft, look what I found in the bathroom." Sherlock appeared under the fame of their bedroom door, holding a knife drenched in blood. "You know what this means?..." He said bouncing up and down.

Mycroft couldn't believe his eyes, first Ford acting all psychopathic and now Sherlock getting excited over murder. Was he the only sane person around here?

 

"... I've finally got my first murder case." Sherlock continued, however Ford was already advancing towards him.

"That's MINE and what I do with it is none of your business." He said grabbing the knife from his hands.

"Oh, so you've been killing people now have you?" Sherlock was now talking to Ford on his tiptoes.

"I mean it Sherlock, you interfere and I'll make sure Mom and Dad put you on the football team."

 

Any football related threat always worked with Sherlock. Although Sherlock sometimes indulged in certain sports such as tennis and track, he detested football with a passion. Something about it being for the common folk.

Sherlock slumped down onto his bed while Mycroft watched as Ford exited the room and proceeded down the hall to his left.

Mycroft was slightly scared that Ford was claiming a bloody knife; even by his standards, his experiments hardly involved living beings.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The bathroom lights flickered as Mycroft stood over the toilet bowl. Because of Sherlock, he would spend the rest of the night making trips to the toilet. Not only did he test his stupid aqua-laxative experiment at diner last night, but he had to screw up and get the glasses mixed up. Well, that's what he was claiming; Mycroft knew all to well that Sherlock had planned this ever since he had left their argumentation without the winning remark. And even after he had gotten what he wanted; the git.

Mycroft quietly walked out of the bathroom, squinting his eyes against fatigue. As he moved across the hall, he noticed Ford's bedroom door slightly open. Which was quite odd, because Ford was very light sensitive and thus always, without exception, sleep with the door tightly shut. An open door either meant he was still awake or...

It was as he suspected, the bedroom was empty. This wouldn't be the first time Ford snuck out at night. Believe it or not, Ford used to have a close group of friends, and being gothic emos at the time, they used hang around graveyards in the pitch of the night. But when the last of his friends moved out of town two years ago, Ford isolated himself from the exterior world as well as his family.

 

Mycroft cautiously entered Ford's room, looking around curiously for the bloody knife and perhaps more... He passed Ford's old refrigerator on his left. The story goes, that Ford had had a tantrum fit when he was 10 in order to have a small refrigerator installed in his bedroom. Situated at the center of the room, was his long lab table, with the usual bottles and jars leaning between large amounts of torn papers and journal articles. However, as he approached the far side nearest to the window, resting on the table he saw a neatly cut and cleaned leg, human leg. Next to which lay two arms and a mesh of dark brown hair.

 

Mycroft didn't know how to react, he couldn't possibly believe Ford was responsible for this. Maybe he was covering up for something Sherlock did. He could just ask him tomorrow morning... or maybe that wouldn't prove to be very wise. He went back to bed deciding that discretion and observation was probably the intelligent move to make.

 

***

 

"Mickey dear, it's Sunday," Mrs. Holmes started as she watched her 10 year old son arrive at the breakfast table wearing his three piece suit. "Can't you at least try on one of those lovely summer shirts I bought you?"

"Yeh, Mickey." Sherlock chanted.

"If i'm not mistaken, it says Mycroft on my birth certificate." Mycroft enunciated finishing with a fake smile.

Sighing, Mrs. Holmes merely turned back to her boiling kettle on the stove. Mycroft poured himself some tea and selectively picked a biscuit from the stack in front of him.

"Don't take too many or you'll put on weight." Sherlock teased.

Mycroft turned red and eyeing his younger brother down, replied, "Maybe you should pay more attention to what you're eating: "Cap'n Crunch Cinnamon rolls?... You're 8 years old, Sherlock... GROW UP!"

"What for?"

"Does that have to be your answer to everything?"

"As long as it makes you mad." Sherlock replied cheerfully.

 

Mrs. Holmes interrupted before either one of them started killing each other, "Have either of you seen your brother this morning, he doesn't normally sleep in this late."

Mycroft shook his head while Sherlock simply replied "no".

"Maybe he's after another victim of his?" Sherlock whispered leaning over to Mycroft.

"Shut up, Sherlock and get your face out of my personal space." Mycroft snapped back.

"Fine." Sherlock replied turning back to his bowl of cereal.

 

***

 

It was 4 o'clock and Ford had still not left the dingy chambers of his bedroom. Mycroft had decided to talk to him after all; normally he could read anyone within seconds but Ford, Ford was different... as if he wasn't even human.

 

When Sherlock had finally left for his Sunday library research, Mycroft walked over to the darkened room on the far left of the landing. He was just about to knock on Ford's door, when the doorbell rang. Since Mum was driving Sherlock to the library and Dad was out in the garden, Mycroft walked back downstairs and answered the front door.

 

"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are both occupied, if you'd be so kind as to come back later- "

"Hello there young man, are your parents home?" Two police officers stood before him. One was smiling, and the other just had his arms crossed and was leaning against the brick wall beside the door.

Mycroft sighed, "Like I said, Mr. and Mr. Holmes-"

"Are they your guardians?" The same police officer asked.

"Yes, they're my parents."

"Oh, well why didn't you say so."

 

The other officer didn't seem so compassionate. "This isn't about your parents anyways. We're looking for Sherinford Holmes, your brother I suppose." he said looking up from his brief folder.

"Please excuse me for just a minute." Mycroft slammed the door shut and ran up to Ford's bedroom.

 

"Ford!" He slammed open Ford's door; Ford was standing over his lab table, a dead body covering the surface.

"Damn it Mycroft, can't you knock?"

"How could you... No... Why?"

"What are you mumbling about?"

Before Mycroft could say another word, the two police officers had broken down the door and were making their way up to the room on the second floor. "Hand's up! Don't move!"

"Oh, for christ sake." Ford turned to Mycroft, "You little snitch."

"No, I swear I didn't say anything." Mycroft whimpered watching the officers handcuff Ford and carry him out.

 

***

 

"Gez, just look at this... this kid is insane..." Said the detective inspector peering at the body on the table, a group of officers surrounding him. Mycroft, who hadn't moved since Ford's arrest, was still standing outside the bedroom, scared and confused.

 

"Well, we'd better take this body back to the morgue." The detective said selecting a couple of officers for the task.

"The morgue?" This was the first time Mycroft had spoken since the arrest.

"Yeh, where'd you think the bodies came from?"

 

A wave of relief passed through Mycroft; it wasn't murder. Having the right connections, he could easily get his brother out of theft, but murder, now that would have been a different story.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Today, Ford would be coming home from the police department, where they were holding him until his court appeal. With Mycroft's help, he had gotten only 3 months of community service and a small fee of 150 dollars for the break-in repairs.

Ford still hadn't told anyone as to why he stole the bodies and everyone, including Sherlock (Mycroft always said he was stupid), thought that it was just because Ford was weird that way. Mycroft on the other hand knew that there was more. There had to be a reason for this, otherwise it was just madness and Ford was sure as hell not insane... was he?

 

Mycroft watched as his older brother entered through the front door and proceeded up the stairs.

"Can I talk to you?" Mycroft said running behind Ford, "Ford please... Excuse me, but I got you out. If it wasn't for me, you would have gotten at least 6 months in juvenile penitentiary."

Ford didn't look back, walked into his room and slammed the door in Mycroft's face.

"I just want to talk... Ford?... _bastard_ " Mycroft was just about to walk away and give up when the door sightly opened and a mumbled "come in" came from the other side.

 

Mycroft walked into the darken space. Ford was by the fridge, fumbling through it's contents.

"The fucks even took the skin samples. Now, I have to from scratch... Well, at least they didn't take the essential." Ford mumbled, his head disappearing into the fridge.

"ford?" Mycroft murmured.

"secret back compartment... works every time." Ford chuckled, holding a small jar as he closed the fridge door.

"uhhh... Ford?"

"What?" Ford snapped, "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"I want to know why; you owe me that much-" Mycroft noticed the jar in Ford's hands, quickly deducing what the substance inside was. ".... Why are you holding a jar of blood?"

"Fine, but your not going to like it.... and you can't tell Sherlock!"

"I won't tell him... or Mum and Dad."

"Obviously... although they do already know half of it... still don't want them knowing you know, so not a word, ok?"

Mycroft nodded and Ford continued, "Right... so, how far back can you remember?"

 

Mycroft started shaking. _How could Ford possibly know?_ He had made such an effort to cover that up.

"5? Right?... Probably haven't even noticed the scar on your head."

"What scar?" Mycroft knew he had no recollection of anything before the age of 5 (it was quite embarrassing, compared to Sherlock who could remember somethings from as early as the age of 3), But a SCAR?

"It's not very visible; near your ear. It's the only trace of the accident... Why do you think Mum and Dad don't look like us?"

"... "

"Mycroft, they're not our parents and this... is the blood of our real parents." Ford said holding up the jar.

Mycroft blinked, his eye lashes fluttering as he leaned back against the wall.

 

Seeing his distress, Ford decided to give Mycroft the lot while he was still conscience. "Mum and Dad died in a car accident and only you survived... me and Sherlock weren't there, anyways after the accident you started forgetting everything that had happened before that day and it didn't help that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes never talked about it, so that you forgot and Sherlock never knew."

 

For a long moment both stayed silent Ford waiting for Mycroft to break the ice. Finally, Mycroft cleared his throat and said in a horse voice, "how... How does that explain-"

"The bodies?... yes well, by the genius in me, I've created a way to bring them back."

"What?"  _Oh I get it; all this is some cracked up joke_ , Mycroft thought.

"Look" Ford said, handing Mycroft a few files. "The rest are somewhere in this mess." Ford said, pointing to the overload of papers on the lab table. Mycroft scanned though the papers.

"uhh... Ford? Can I keep these, just for tonight?"

"Fine, but you even attempt to tell anyone-"

"I swear I won't."

"Well then, if there's nothing else you want, would you be as so kind as to piss off out of my room."

 

 _And that's as kind as he gets_ , Mycroft though as he quickly scurried away leaving the door wide open as a pissed off Ford dragged himself over to slam the door shut.

 

***

 

The first thing that Mycroft did was check for the scar and just as Ford had said there was a tiny mark behind his left ear. Mycroft had to use a second hand mirror to see it. How had Sherlock never noticed, well then again he was the stupid one.

 

Hours later, he sat at his worn out oakwood desk, aiming the paper in his hand towards what little light shone through the window. On the other side of the room Sherlock was fast asleep, a small police novel resting on his face.

He read each of the dossiers thoroughly. A quantity of research had been done, along with blueprints and lab results. Furthermore, the compilation had a surprising amount of references to other works of his. _This must have taken him years_ , Mycroft thought, could he have possibly been planning this ever since _his parents_ death.

However as Mycroft started to read each dossier, it was unfortunately as he had predicted; Ford's theories held no real realistic perception. At every major scientific block or inconsistency, the aspect would be simply overlooked or justified in the most unreasonable manor possible. Some parts even used Mary Shelling's Frankenstien as justified evidence. Clearly, Ford's desperation to resurrect his parents was blinding him.

 

Mycroft knew how to read people. And as he read Ford's work he realized that his inconclusive analyses on Ford had always been due to a lack of sufficient data. However, one look and it wouldn't even take genius Mycroft Holmes to see that Ford was clearly suffering from obsessive compulsive behavior disorder. Mycroft shuttered at what he ~~chose to~~ must do. And, not to be dramatic, but for the first time in his life Mycroft realized how much he loved his brothers.

 

***

 

"Let go of me! Mycroft, help!" Ford was being dragged through the front door by two officers in hospital white uniforms. The third was in the next room talking to a weeping Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.

"Think of Mum and Dad, Mycroft... you're killing them Mycroft... you're murdering them... MURDERER!" Ford's hand's slipped off the door frame and were pulled behind his back.

 

Mycroft didn't say a word, didn't move an inch. Even after Ford had been loaded into a van and driven away, Mycroft stayed at the bottom of the staircase, his eyes fixed on door which had still not yet been closed. The door on which the frame was carved with the indents of a young and frightened _boy_.

 

A year later, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes would receive the new of their son's suicide within the psychiatric hospital.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Greg Lestrade descended the floors of the gigantic mansion using Mycroft's personal elevator. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be using this one due to Mycroft's over-exaggerated set of house rules. But as soon as Greg glanced over at the buttons, he realized why. Greg knew the mansion was big, so big in fact that he hadn't even been in most of the rooms. However, as much as the area was unfamiliar, he thought he knew how many floors there were. Apparently not according to the panel on his right. On the far bottom right, next to level -1(car park) was level -4, no level -2 or -3; it just skipped down to -4.

 _What the hell?_ Greg thought. Was Mycroft hiding something from him?... Something to do with the government probably, something he probably shouldn't venture into and more likely won't understand anyways. Nevertheless, Greg mischievously pressed the mysterious button. It took a while for the elevator to get from level -1 to -4, but when the doors finally opened, Greg was welcomed by an automatic lighting system that travelled across a long narrow hall.

As he walked downwards, he realized that the doors on the sides were false painted ones... At the end, facing Greg was a small door... it looked real enough. He took hold of the handle and gave it a tug: locked.

 

"Do you want to see inside?" said a voice from behind him.

Greg jumped back in surprise as he turned around, hitting his shoulder against the door... the metal door.

"Mycroft!?!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"I wasn't going to use your elevator, but the other one's broken and I didn't fancy walking down all those stairs."

Mycroft chuckled, "It's alright Greg, I've been meaning to tell you for some time."

"Is it dangerous, whatever in here?... We're not living on top of some massive nuclear explosives are we?"

"God no... It has nothing to do with the government missile plans... this... this is personal."

"A secret sex bedroom?"

Mycroft laughed, "no, although it's not such a bad suggestion for the extended rooms being built next month."

"What extended rooms?"

"I did tell you, Greg-"

"yeh, ok then, maybe I just wasn't paying attention, but I'm sure you never told me about this place."

"No, you're right... I don't know how to explain this to you, Greg... Maybe if I just show you."

 

Mycroft walked up to the door and pressed his right hand against the small framed square beside the handle. A small light flashed and the door automatically maneuvered inwards. Mycroft let Greg enter, before closing the door behind them as he stepped in himself.

 

The room was smaller than Greg had imagined... not that he had imagined anything in particular... _what did he even expect to see?_ Like just about anything in Mycroft's _palace_ , the area was spotless clean. However, this enclosed space was minimally furnished, the wall just as bare as the floor. A few hospital cabinets were placed along the sides and at the center, a large medical table covered by a white sheet hiding two long shaped forms.

 

"greg?... " Mycroft's eyes were filled with tears when Greg turned round to face him. "... I've misjudged an innocent man."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to:  
> BBC's Sherlock TV Series (2010)  
> Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street by Baring-Gould  
> Frankenstein by Marry Shelling


End file.
